


Only Fools Rush In (But I Can't Help Falling In Love)

by raging_storm (orphan_account)



Series: STØRM'S NEW STUFF [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Bi Tyler, Blurryface, Borderline Personality Disorder, Cliche, Dark, Depression, Gay Josh, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Sad, Sad Tyler, Self-Harm, Skeleton Clique, Splitting, Stay Alive, Triggers, bdp, blurry, bpd tyler, gay all around, triggering, yay, |-/ - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11982390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/raging_storm
Summary: Tyler should be mad at the guy with blue hair and gauges that caused him to mess up his perfect bowling game. But instead he finds himself slowly falling for him.





	1. Migraine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cattheneko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattheneko/gifts).



> 9/17/17 edit:
> 
> So I edited the tags, as I had an original plan for adding more characters into the story, but then I decided not to go that route. I thought about many plotlines, but none of the characters fit into the story and made it cohesive with a nice flow where it was headed.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this.  
> Stay alive.  
> |-/

He needs one more strike to bowl a perfect game.

That's it. He's on the tenth shot, nine strikes on the scoreboard lining up beautifully next to each other in crimson red. The bowling ball feels right in his hands, nine pounds of weight ready to lay waste to the pyramid formation of pins as he gets into position.

There's a crowd of people behind him, mostly drunks from the bar behind the alley with nothing better to do, who are interested in seeing a guy bowl a perfect game. They're loud, raucous, some are encouraging him to fail, but he tunes them out. This is his time to shine.

Beside him, his friend Mark is clapping his hands and urging him on. Three of his other friends - Nick, Chris, and Michael - are whistling and cheering. That's all he needs to encourage him, his friends supporting him.

Tyler turns to face the lane, taking a deep breath. It's hard to believe that what's only sixty feet of polished wood seems so far away. The pins, which were huge on turn one, now seem miniscule. A bead of sweat traces its way down the side of his neck, and his hands are shaking slightly.

"Don't screw up!" someone yells, accompanied by laughter, and Tyler feels his ears turn red.

"Leave him be," says another person, and more yells break out.

Tyler looks behind him. There's quite a crowd gathered, and he can't believe they're all standing there waiting for him to bowl. It's practically unheard of that a whole crowd will gather to watch someone throw a ball.

But nothing relatively exciting happens in Columbus, Ohio, so when something like this comes up, people want to see it. This is probably the most exciting thing to happen since footage of a bird attacking a high schooler went viral. And besides, it's nighttime, people are bored after eating dinner, and want to see some action.

"Throw the ball already!" a man shouts, and Michael turns to shush him, but someone else beats him to the punch. It's a guy with blue hair and white plastic gauges in his ears. Tyler looks at him and his heart jumps. More sweat traces its way down his face, and he feels his cheeks turning red. Luckily, the guy doesn't notice, he's staring pointedly at the lane.

Flustered, Tyler turns back to the lane and lines up his shot. Then he takes a running start, pushing one foot forward and hurling the ball down the lane.

Right before he releases, the blue-haired guy gives an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. Tyler does a double-take, fumbles the ball, and lets go too early.

The ball hits the lane with a thud, travels left, and goes into the gutter. The sound is like a bomb going off in Tyler's ears, and his heart sinks. He failed.

A collective groan goes up from the watchers, followed by hoots from the people who were just there to watch him fail. Mark is instantly at his side muttering something to Tyler, but he can't hear. He turns on his heel and runs, and laughs follow him.

"Where's the bathroom?" he mumbles to the guy at the counter, who has a sympathetic look on his face. He was watching Tyler miss that shot.

"Around the corner," he says, and points.

Tyler takes off without another word, throwing open the door and locking himself in the farthest stall. It's there where he grabs handfuls of his own hair, breathing deeply and trying to relax, collapsing onto the closed toilet seat.

Any normal person might not get so worked up about a game of bowling, but to Tyler, every mocking laugh or insult hurt him, and not being able to show them up made him feel horrible inside. It reinforced the idea that he really was no good, didn't deserve to go far.

_Stupid, stupid...I was so close..._

He chokes back a sob just as the door opens, and Tyler hears Mark's voice speaking to him, asking him to come out and just  _talk_ to him, that everything's going to be  _fine,_ that it's just a game of bowling.

"Go away," Tyler mumbles, and he does, because Mark knows Tyler, and he knows when he needs some alone time.

Tyler loves that about him. He won't press the matter, won't try and get him to come out any further. He feels guilt eating at his stomach, because he can't go anywhere in public without something like this happening, where Mark has to practically babysit him. He feels eight, not twenty-eight.

He hears the door thudding shut, and takes out his phone, typing a text quickly to Mark.

_Go home without me._

He gets a response right away.

**_What the fuck? No, Tyler, I'm not leaving you here._ **

_i'll walk back home._

**_...dude, it's like, four miles. Are you sure?_ **

_yeah._

Without waiting for a response, Tyler shuts off his phone and puts it back in his pocket. He presses his fingers to his eyes to stem the tears that are threatening to fall, and opens and closes the fingers on his left hand. They're slick with sweat.

When Tyler was eight, he was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. He refused any treatment for it, not wanting to bother, but regrets the decision to now. He splits so often in public that it's hard to focus on the present, and he can't explain what's going on in his head. He feels like he's splitting now. He probably is.

The worst thing about BPD? Anything can trigger you, at any moment.

Tyler takes a deep breath and pushes open the stall door, making his way out of the bathroom and into the bowling alley. It's a lot quieter now. A lot of people departed after he missed that shot, and the alley is closing soon. Mark, Michael, and the rest of his friends are gone, back to their shared apartment. Tyler guesses Mark wanted to wait for him, but the others pressured him to drive back. They love Tyler, but he knows they're probably tired, a bit wasted, and know he'll eventually make it back.

He strips off his bowling shoes and wordlessly hands them back to the guy at the counter, whose response is to tell him it's closing time. Tyler ignores him. His mind is a jumble of thoughts right now, and he's afraid if he opens his mouth he'll say something he regrets.

He puts on his street shoes and exits the bowling alley.

It's a lot quieter in the nighttime than it is the daytime. There's still cars on the streets, but while they seemed bigger and louder during the day, now they seem small and insignificant. 

Tyler doesn't like the quiet. When there's noise, it drowns out the voices in his head. But when there's silence, there's nothing stopping his self-destructive thoughts. And he has an abundance of those.

He walks away from the parking lot, aimlessly kicking a rock, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his skinny jeans. It's cold out, and the wind is harsh, ruffling his hair, cutting his face with its bite. He feels numb inside, but that's only partially due to the cold.

He hears an engine behind him, then feels bright lights on his back, and human curiosity makes him turn his head. It's a bright red, semi-rusted truck streaked with dirt, rolling down the street in his direction. He turns away from it, continuing up the street, but then it pulls to a stop right next to him, and the window rolls down.

Tyler panics. He's heard the stories; some serial killer picks up a guy hitchhiking on the road, and that guy is never seen again. At least, not alive. He remembers reading a story about a mass murderer who left his victims bleeding in a river nearby.

The window rolls down, and Tyler sees a shock of blue-dyed hair. It's the guy from the bowling alley, and Tyler's breath hitches in his throat. The guy is practically a stranger, but he seemed nice enough at the alley. Maybe he just needs directions or something. Tyler lets his guard down, but he tenses up his shoulders, preparing himself for any possible questions.

He doesn't expect the guy to put a smile on his face and lean out the window. "Hey, you need a ride or something?"

Tyler's heart stops. The way the guy smiles, showing his blinding white teeth, is adorable. This guy is adorable. But looking at him, so perfect and handsome, makes Tyler feel self-conscious of the way his hair isn't straight in places, or his lips are chapped, and his teeth are crooked. He feels like he has to turn away, but doesn't want to be rude.

Tyler realises the guy is looking at him patiently and expectantly, and he clears his throat. "Uh - no. I don't. Sorry." Mentally, he curses himself. Why did he say sorry? Why does he have to be such an awkward person?

The guy looks a bit confused. "Oh, okay. You live close or something?"

"Why would I tell you that?" Tyler asks, then swallows. It came out harsher than he realised. The guy pulls back a little, retreating into his truck. Tyler can feel the warmth and hear the sound of the heater going. He blushes slightly, and tries to cover up the blunder. "I mean, cause, you know, you might be a serial killer or something."

He had to say that.

But the guy just grins that amazing grin, and laughs, showing off every one of his teeth, and Tyler blushes deeper. "You're a funny guy," he says, and Tyler feels touched at the compliment. No one besides his friends ever handed him a compliment, not since third grade. And even then, it was just a "Nice drawing, Tyler," in art class by a girl who's now in prison.

"I'm not a serial killer, I promise," the guy jokes, and Tyler bobs his head absentmindedly. He finds himself staring at the guy's arms, lean and muscular, as they're perched on the windowsill.

"No, I don't live close," Tyler says, remembering to answer the original question. He sighs and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, as if trying to make them disappear. He's always been insecure about his hands - to him, they look weird, feel weird, and everything he touches looks contaminated in his eyes. "I live, like, four miles away from here."

The guy looks concerned. "Are you  _sure_ you don't need a ride, man? I can give you one, it's totally cool."

Another gust of wind blows, and Tyler's teeth chatter. His hoodie is inadequate against the cold, Autumn air, and suddenly the guy's warm truck is looking pretty appealing, serial killer or not.

"I guess so," he says, trying not to sound too reluctant, and the guy beams, opening up the passenger side door. Tyler climbs in, grateful, and slumps into the leather seats. "Nice truck," he says, because the guy is giving him a ride, and the least he can do is compliment him in some way.

"Not really," the guy says carelessly. "It's pretty beat up. I've had it for five years, got in an accident twice."

"Please don't do that while I'm in here," Tyler says, only half-kidding. He's now worried he climbed into a car with an awful driver. As if reading his mind, the guy takes a sideways glance at Tyler, before pulling off the shoulder of the road and turning on his high beams.

"Don't worry. It wasn't really my fault. I'm Josh, by the way," the guy says, and Tyler's heart stops again. 

 _Josh._  The name suits the guy so perfectly. That's a name he can love, unlike Tyler, which sounds so fake, so sterile, so...weird. Tyler's always been weird about his name, he hates it. But Josh, Josh is a perfect name for a perfect person.

 _Stop getting so invested in this guy,_ he scolds himself,  _you've literally just met. Besides, he's probably straight..._

Tyler is bi, and even though he doesn't openly advertise it, it still hurts when a guy he likes turns out to be straight. As the voices in his head reach a climax, he turns to the window, taking deep breaths and trying not to think about Josh.

"And you are...?" Josh says suddenly, cutting off the stream of thoughts in Tyler's mind, and he's jolted back to earth.

"Oh, Jesus, sorry. I was just thinking."

"It's all good," Josh says, pulling off of the highway. "Where do you live?"

Tyler gives him the address, then introduces himself. "I'm Tyler," he says. "Tyler Joseph." 

 _Idiot!_ he screams at himself.  _Why the fuck did you tell him your full name? That's weird!_

Josh is nodding, and doesn't care, though. "Tyler Joseph," he repeats. "Now  _that_ is a cool name."

Tyler feels a rush of happiness. "Really?" he blurts out. "You don't think it's - it's weird or anything?"

Josh shoots him a strange look. "No?" he says. "Why would I?"

Tyler shrinks back into the cracked leather seat, hoping he'll disappear. He hadn't meant to say that, and now any hopes of bonding with this guy have probably gone out the window.

Shit.

"Never mind," he says in a small voice, and Josh just shrugs, turning his attention back to the road.

They drive in silence for a minute, before Josh says, "We're here," and parks the car right in front of Tyler's apartment building. 

Tyler cranes his neck and leans out the window, and can see lights on in his apartment. The rest of his friends are probably up, watching TV or something. 

Josh prods his leg lightly, and Tyler jumps a mile.

"Sorry, sorry!" Josh says, "I didn't mean to do that. My bad." He grins awkwardly at Tyler, who just folds himself against the door, wanting to escape the situation, but feeling strangely attracted to it.

"It's fine," he says, then grabs the door handle. "I'll, uh, see you around. Josh."

Josh runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "I'll see you, Tyler Joseph." 

Tyler tenses up, hearing Josh say his full name like that, but it isn't said with any particular bad tone, so he relaxes again. "Thanks for the ride," he says, and starts to walk up to the complex.

"Wait, Tyler!" Josh calls, and Tyler turns around.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry for screwing up your shot," Josh says, looking sheepish. He's embarrassed, and Tyler can tell, and he feels cold inside again. His expression, which was at ease a second ago, turns closed off.

"I really didn't mean to," Josh says. "And, uh, I don't know if it's weird to apologize? But sorry anyways. Even if it wasn't me."

Tyler melts. "It's okay," he says softly, then pulls one hand out of his pocket, running it through his hair. "We all have bad days, right?"

"Yeah," Josh says. "I feel like crap, though. I mean, I saw you run off, and...it made me feel really bad. So I'm sorry, Tyler."

It's getting colder out. Tyler wants to go inside, but he wants to finish his conversation with Josh. The guy upstairs are probably waiting for him, and Mark is probably worried out of his mind, but Tyler doesn't care. He stands his ground.

"Tell you what," Tyler says in a rush. "You, uh, buy me a drink sometime and we'll call it even. Okay?"

Immediately he wants to sink into the ground and never be seen again. Who is he, to tell a stranger that he owes him because he himself screwed up? He stares at the ground, willing himself to act normally, not to cry, when he hears a car door slam, and hears footsteps crunching on the gravel towards him.

He looks up, and Josh is standing there, extending his hand and holding out his phone. The contacts app is open, set to "new contact". 

"Deal," he says, and Tyler stares at him in disbelief.

"You want me to - put my number on there?" he asks hesitantly, and Josh nods.

"Oh, god, sorry if this is weird," Josh says, rushing the apology. It's like the third one tonight, and Tyler quickly reassures him. He takes the phone and enters TYLER JOSEPH in the name slot, before putting his number.

"I've got to get going," Josh says, "but, uh, see you later, Tyler Joseph."

"Yeah," Tyler says, breathless. There's a happy bubble in his chest, and for once, the voices are silent. "See you."

Josh smiles one last time, then climbs back into his truck, honking the horn and waving as he pulls away. Tyler raises one hand hesitantly in return, then walks back to his apartment, quickly taking the stairs up to the fourth floor and unlocking the door.

A blast of heat similar to Josh's car hits him, and three heads turn and look at him from the couch. He feels self-conscious at first, but then remembers that these are friends, and it's okay to feel safe with them.

Mark pops his head out of the kitchen. "Guys, I'm going to go to sl- hey, Tyler, you're back!" 

"Yeah," Tyler says, scuffing his shoe on the ground. "I think I'm gonna go to bed now."

"Cool," Mark says, "I'm gonna hit the hay as well." He doesn't ask about Tyler being on his own, and for that Tyler is grateful. He kicks off his shoes, putting them onto the mat, and crosses the living room to his own bedroom.

"Night, you two," Nick says, like nothing's out of the ordinary. He doesn't take his eyes off the TV, where an episode of  _America's Got Talent_ is playing. Tyler can hear the audience laughing on-screen.

He feels tired very quickly all of a sudden, and heads to his room, followed by Mark, who goes into the bathroom. Without even undressing, Tyler slumps onto his bed, the mattress creaking underneath his frame, and closes his eyes, slithering under the covers. The voices are back, whispering snide remarks into his ear as he drifts off, but thoughts of Josh chase them away.

He goes to sleep happy, for the first time in twelve years.


	2. Fairly Local

He wakes to the sound of shouting, and the smell of something burning in the kitchen.

Tyler opens his eyes, and yawns, pushing back the covers. He has a smile on his face for some reason, and feels abnormally happy. He had a dream about his encounter with Josh, and for once the nightmares stayed away. He's content.

He hears Nick shouting something, then a minute later the smoke detector goes off, its piercing shriek making Tyler jump. He gets off the bed and runs to the kitchen, where a hectic scene meets his eyes.

Michael is waving a towel in front of the smoke detector in an attempt to make it shut up, Nick is dealing with some mess on the stove, which is burning, and Chris and Mark are in a yelling fight. Mark has a melted rubber spatula in one hand, and Chris is right up in his face, shouting at him about how he obviously can't cook unsupervised.

"It's not my fault I never learned to cook!" Mark is shouting. "It's my parents' fault!"

"Oh, well, excuse me for assuming you knew how to  _cook an egg_ -"

Tyler steps forward, running one hand through his hair. "What's going on?" he demands, voice still scratchy and rough with sleep, and Chris and Mark whip their heads around simultaneously, their eyes glowing dangerously.

"Tech Boy here tried to make breakfast-"

"Oh, sorry for trying to be helpful!"

"-and ended up almost burning the fucking apartment down!"

Mark brandishes the spatula in his right hand, a murderous look on his face, and Tyler wants to laugh. The situation is so comical and cliche that it would be funny if Mark didn't actually look like he was going to kill Chris right there. 

Nervously, Tyler steps forward. "Alright, uh - break it up, guys."

Chris glares at him. "Don't tell me what to do, Tyler," he says coldly, and Mark steps forward, invading his personal space.

Right then, Michael gets the smoke detector to stop, and Mark's eyes are shooting daggers.

"Leave him the fuck alone," he growls, because he can see how uncomfortable Chris is making Tyler. "Alright, I'm sorry, it was just some stupid eggs. Let's drop it. I'll pay for lunch sometime."

Chris shoots one last nasty look at Mark, and Tyler thinks they were probably arguing about something else, that this confrontation is about more than just eggs - clearly, they're using the egg situation as a scapegoat to yell at each other - then Chris backs away and heads into the living room, switching on the TV and pointedly ignoring the others.

Nick wipes his forehead, a pair of rubber gloves on his hands, and drops the burned pan in the sink. "Someone else scrape these...eggs off," he says, peeling the gloves off and dropping them in the sink. He goes over to Chris where they talk quietly. Eventually, Chris nods and Nick points out the window about something. 

Michael goes over and cleans the kitchen while Mark goes over to Tyler with a concerned look on his face. Tyler's clenching both his fists. There's an odd ringing in his ears even though the smoke alarm has been off for a few minutes, and he's shaking. He's splitting again.

"Tyler. Tyler! Focus," Mark says, snapping his fingers in front of Tyler's face.

"I - I have to leave," Tyler says jerkily, and walks stiffly back into his room. It's there where he sits on the bed and puts his head in his hands, pulling at his hair and taking deep breaths, just like he did yesterday in the bowling alley. It's a few minutes before he's grounded again, but when he is he picks up his phone, opening up the Messenger app.

There's nothing from Josh, and immediately Tyler feels disappointed, then experiences a sick feeling in his stomach. What if Josh forgot about him? What if Josh doesn't care about him?

He hears hushed voices coming from the living room, and Tyler knows, he has this  _feeling_ they're talking about him.

He hears footsteps, then Mark gently knocks on the door. Tyler lays down on the bed, facing the ceiling. "What?"

"Tyler, we're all going out for breakfast. Because, y'know, my attempt was not so eggscelent." Mark tries to laugh at his own stupid dad joke, and Tyler internally rolls his eyes. Mark is such a dork sometimes, but he appreciates his trying to cheer him up, even if all he wants is to be left alone right now.

"Don't ever make that joke again," Tyler says out loud, and Mark snorts.

"So, you coming?"

Tyler sighs through his nose. He wants to come, but at the same time he doesn't. What if he splits in public again, or fucks something up, or just acts  _weird?_ He knows he's among friends, but he's still uncomfortable for reasons unknown.

Then he stands up suddenly, coming to a split second decision. "I have to change my clothes. Then I'll be right out."

"Yaay!" Mark says, like a little kid, and Tyler can almost see him pumping his fist through the door. "We'll be outside waiting for you. Don't take too long."

"Sure," Tyler says absentmindedly, stripping out of his clothes and rummaging through his drawer for new ones. The grin is plastered back on his face, and he feels weightless.

His phone is flashing a notification, with one new text.

_Hey, Tyler Joseph. You feeling like meeting me somewhere today? -Josh_


	3. Truce

When Tyler exits the apartment, he sees his friends crowding into Mark's red Mazda3. He just got it recently, but the new car smell is already wearing off. They don't use the car often, preferring to walk, but this time nobody feels like slogging it on foot for two miles to brunch, so they take the car.

Mark likes to put in these little pine tree air fresheners in his car, and it drives Nick mad. He has an hypersensitive nose, and can't stand the weird, overcloying smell. Honestly, neither can Tyler, but they already have one complainer in the gang, and Tyler's too shy to bother speaking up.

In less than five minutes, Nick is groaning in the shotgun seat about how bad it smells. "Dude, it's like someone sprayed Windex up my nose," he says, and Mark leans over and hits him.

"Keep your fucking hands on the wheel!" Chris screams, as Mark almost runs the front right tire into the curb. Michael sighs.

"I hope this isn't an omen of how this day is going to go," he mutters, breathing onto the window and drawing a frowny face. It's cold outside, and since the heater in Mark's car hasn't started up yet, everyone's freezing. Tyler pulls his hoodie closer to himself, and checks his phone.

He'd sent out a single reply right away:  _Sure, I'd love to!_ but he'd gotten no reply yet. He begins to get worried. What if Josh thought he was weird for replying right away? What if Tyler had scared him off? He hoped Josh didn't think he was strange or something, as if he was waiting for the response.

He was kind of surprised Josh asked him right away. He figured a guy like Josh with such a magnetic personality would have other friends, and other things to do. It kind of touches Tyler that he remembered him right away.

 _He pities you, fool,_ a voice chimes in, and Tyler stills in his seat.

 _Shut up,_ he thinks, digging his nails into his palms. Today is his day. He isn't going to let himself ruin it.

"What are you doing?" Michael asks curiously, leaning over and trying to look at Tyler's screen.

"Nothing!" Tyler yelps, his face turning red, and Michael grins wolfishly.

"Tyler Joseph, it's only ten in the morning. Don't tell me you're watching -"

"LOOK OUT!" Chris screams suddenly, knuckles white where they're gripping the dashboard, eyes wide. Mark swears violently and slams on the brakes, reeling on him furiously. 

"Will you _shut_ _up_ before we have a fucking accident?" he snaps, and another car honks at him because he's stopped right at an intersection at a green light. Mark floors it, making a left-hand turn and forgetting to use his turn signal in the process.

"How did they pass you at the DMV?" demands Chris.

"Says the person too scared to get his license!"

"Can you both stop?" Nick asks, and he has a sour look on his face.

Tyler releases a nervous laugh. Right then, his phone pings, and he opens it right away, checking his texts. There's one from Josh, saying, "Coffee? 11?"

Tyler types out a response, stopping to correct his grammar three times before sending Josh a  _Sure, where?_

 _Starbucks, obviously. ;)_ Josh sends back, and Tyler says okay before he comes to a sudden realisation.

The only Starbucks around is right next to the brunch place they're headed to. And while Tyler didn't really think out how he was going to meet Josh when he agreed to go with Mark and crew, now he's really screwed. How is he going to break away without making things awkward? And he can't even cancel the plans, because that would be rude, and Tyler's not that type of guy.

"Who are you talking to?" Michael asks out of the blue, and Tyler jerks his head up, reflexively hiding his phone.

"No one," he says instantly.

Michael rolls his eyes. "Liar," he says, "you're blushing, so you're clearly talking to someone you have the hots for."

"What? No I'm not!"

"Who's Tyler talking to?" Mark asks from the wheel, and Nick looks up from his own phone to peer curiously at Tyler from next to Michael. 

Now everyone's staring at Tyler, even Mark, who's using the rear view mirror to do so as they're stopped at a red light, and Tyler's blushing crimson.

"It's nothing," he mumbles. Everyone shoots each other a knowing look.

"Sure," Mark says, pulling into the diner parking lot. He changes the subject. "I'm fucking hungry," he groans. "Let's get some eggs that aren't burned."

"As long as we don't have to eat them in your car -"

"Nick, shut up!"

Michael holds the door open for everyone as they pile into the dingy little breakfast place, following after Tyler.

"Who is it?" he whispers to him, and Tyler balls his fists in agitation.

"It's no one!" he snaps.

Michael holds up his hands in surrender. "If you say so," he says, but he's grinning now, and when Tyler turns around so is everyone else, as they stand in the lobby waiting to be seated.

Tyler puts his head in his hands. It's going to be a long hour.

 

 


	4. Guns For Hands

When the group is seated at a booth, Tyler sits by the window and Mark slides into the seat next to him. Chris, Nick, and Michael squeeze across from them, Chris and Nick staring daggers at each other. While they were waiting to be seated, Chris started imitating the way Nick complained about about the smell of Mark's car, which caused Nick to mime him screaming in terror in falsetto and saying, "I'm scared of driving! Ahhh!" Chris started raising his voice to almost yelling, which then caused Michael to hit them both before they got kicked out of the restaurant.

Mark slides a menu over to Tyler as the waitress dishes them out to everyone else, then says she'll be back to take drink orders in a minute.

"You're paying for everything?" Chris asks Mark, rifling through the grimy menu. He wrinkles his nose as he examines something stuck to the worn leather binding. "Ew, what the heck?" 

"Don't be a baby," snaps Michael, flicking it off before opening his own menu. He looks angry at having to micromanage Nick and Chris, and Tyler doesn't blame them. But he knows those two are like brothers. They'll eventually get over it.

Mark looks up from Twitter. "Yeah," he says, and goes back to what he's doing.

The waitress comes back as Michael tries to start up a conversation with Tyler about the weather, which dies out instantly. They all order orange juice, and she goes to get the drinks.

Michael wipes the table off with his sleeve. "Remind me never to come here again," he says mildly as he examines the dirty, cracked floor and grungy ceiling. "It's no wonder this place isn't a health hazard yet." His comment causes a waitress to shoot him a nasty look, and he shuts up.

Tyler closes his own menu, sliding it away from him. Mark notices and raises an eyebrow questioningly, but Tyler turns his head away, leaning on his hand, elbow on the table, as he looks out the window.

"I could eat a whale," groans Chris.

"Eat yourself, then," Nick suggests, and Chris lunges to hit him, but Michael grabs his hand and shoves him against the window.

"Cut it out," he snaps, and he has a scary look on his face, and they both listen because they've seen Michael when he's angry, and they don't want to see it again.

The waitress comes back and takes everyone's orders on a little notepad. She asks Tyler first, smiling, and he uncomfortably says, "Uh, I don't want anything, thanks." He notices how creaky he sounded when he said that, and curses himself.

Mark orders next, then they go around the table. When it's Chris's turn to order, he orders practically everything on the little menu, causing Mark to complain about how he has to chip in if he's ordering that much, and Nick to snort.

Tyler's tired all of a sudden. He can't stop thinking about Josh, his pearly-white smile, how he's probably waiting somewhere. He sees Michael eyeing him, and quickly changes his expression.

"Tyler? Tyler," Mark is saying, annoyed. 

"What?" Tyler says, snapping out of his reverie and taking his arm off the table.

"I was asking you if you wanted any home fries."

"Oh. No thanks," Tyler says. He slumps back in his seat.

Michael frowns deeper, then coughs. He moves his arm, reaching across the table for the pitcher of water, then knocks Nick's fork onto the ground. It skids on the floor, landing near Mark's shoe.

"Shit! Mark, can you get that?" he asks, and Mark huffs before leaning down and grabbing the fork. As he does, Michael lunges across the table, grabbing Mark's car keys and throwing them to Tyler. People stare from booths and the barstools, but Michael ignores them.

"Go!" he encourages, and Tyler practically jumps over Mark.

"Hey! Tyler, what the hell? Give me my keys!"

Tyler ignores him, because he has one shot to meet Josh, and Michael gave it to him, and he knows Michael will take the fall for it. Besides, they're eating breakfast there, too.

Mark stumbles from the booth, but Michael blocks his way while Chris hoots and Nick grins like a madman. "You idiots! Help me!" he demands, but no one makes a move. Everyone is staring at them, but then the front door is opening and slamming shut, and Tyler is gone.

Tyler runs to Mark's Mazda, unlocking the door and getting in, first checking himself in the rear view mirror then jamming the key into the ignition. Mark finally makes it outside, and pounds furiously on the window. Tyler lowers it. After all, it is Mark's car, and he's not brave enough to steal it to go meet a stranger.

"Tell me who it is and you can have it," Mark says, and Tyler is taken aback by the statement. He expected anger, surprise, maybe even disgust, but Mark is giving him the car.

"He's a guy from the, uh, bowling alley," Tyler manages to choke out. It's probably his imagination, but he thinks he sees a gleam in Mark's eyes. He puts it down to the sun.

"Go," Mark says, "just bring it back in one piece."

Tyler puts his hands on the wheel. "Thanks, Mark," he says, and Mark steps back.

"If you crash it, I'll kill you," he warns.

Tyler feels brave. Tyler feels happy. "Do I look like Chris?" he jokes.

Mark rolls his eyes, making a shooing gesture, and Tyler pulls out of the parking lot. He shouldn't text and drive, but he pulls out his phone anyways, sending Josh one quick text.

_On my way._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have an idea for where I want this to go. But see, I always get these great ideas in my head, I write them out perfectly...then when I put the words on here, they get messed up?? I'm sorry this is so cliche and bad. This weekend everything will be undergoing severe revision, so don't worry.
> 
> Stay alive.  
> |-/


	5. Ride

Tyler doesn't know why he needs a car to drive to a Starbucks literally a street away, but Michael didn't know that, and neither does Josh. And besides, he wants to look sophisticated, like he didn't walk all the way from his apartment or something.

He waits patiently in traffic, humming to himself slightly and tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. If there were butterflies in his stomach before, they turned into birds. He's actually on his way to meet Josh now. He pictures Josh's white-as-snow smile, and can't help feeling oddly nervous. One hand goes to his hair and tries to fix it, but it looks disheveled.

When he pulls into the Starbucks parking lot, he tries to calm down and collect himself. "Keep cool, Tyler," he says, and he's worried about splitting or doubting himself, but he pushes the bad thoughts to the back of his mind. "It's just for an hour...half an hour..." He doesn't actually know the time, because Josh never specified, but it doesn't take long to get coffee.

Hopefully.

"I can't do this," Tyler groans out loud, bumping his head into the steering wheel.

He does it anyway.

The Starbucks is air conditioned inside, which is weird, because normally the chain cafes are always warm. He looks around, but doesn't see Josh, and his heart sinks. His palms are slick with sweat, swallowing becomes difficult, and he feels horrible.

What if Josh was just messing with him? What if he doesn't really want to meet him?

He feels himself sinking down onto one of the wooden chairs in the corner, when he sees a familiar shock of blue-dyed hair, followed by the rest of the person, coming out of the bathroom. He feels relieved. He feels confused. He tries not to show it, however, and Josh's face splits into a grin and he heads to Tyler's table.

"Tyler, hey. Sorry, I was in the bathroom," he says, sitting down. "So, how'd you get here?"

"Hi," Tyler squeaks out.  _What the fuck?_ He's always sounded somewhat pre-pubescent, but why, why did his voice have to crack right there? "Um...by car," he says, answering Josh's question.

Josh sense his discomfort and smiles again, and Tyler can't help thinking that this guy sure smiles a lot. It's annoying, but endearing. Then he quietly smacks himself, because who is he to judge someone else?

"I got here by walking. My house isn't far. And you don't have to be nervous, Tyler. It's just coffee."

Tyler clears his throat. "I know," he says. "So...speaking of coffee..."

"Yes, let's order," Josh confirms, and they both stand up and get in line. It's a huge line, but thankfully they don't have to wait long. When they get to the front, Tyler orders a caramel macchiato, and Josh winks at him before ordering the same thing. Tyler wonders if it's possible to sink through the floor.

"I used to be a barista here," Josh admits, shoving his hands into his pockets. Tyler wants to do the same, but doesn't want Josh to think he's copying him.

"Cool," is all he says.

A guy hands them their drinks, and Tyler goes to grab his wallet, but Josh stops him, looking amused. "Haven't you ever, like, been on a date before?" he asks. "The person who asks always pays."

But all that registers in Tyler's brain is date, and he repeats it to himself a hundred times.  _Date, date, date._

_Am I on a date with Josh?_

"W-what?" Tyler asks, and his knees feel weak. They're kind of standing in the middle of the line, so Josh gently tugs on his arm to get him out of the way of a teenage girl with a scowl and a nose ring.

Josh looks Tyler up and down. "I wasn't inferring we were on a date," he says cryptically. "I was comparing this to that. I'm just saying, I'll pay. Remember? You even said I had to."

"You don't have to," Tyler mutters, and his ears turn pink. "I-I just didn't - never mind."

"It's perfectly fine, Tyler," Josh says, then turns to the impatient barista and pays for both their drinks. In return, they receive two "Grande" macchiatos.

Tyler never understood the warped drinks menu. It's why he rarely goes to Starbucks. It annoys him. Why can't they use regular cup sizes like everyone else? Well, he supposes that will always be a mystery.

Josh tucks his wallet away, and then leads Tyler back to a different seat at the back of the restaurant. Tyler sits down on his own, though, because he doesn't want to look needy and he's afraid Josh will try to pull out his chair or something like that. He just takes tiny sips of his coffee, shivering with pleasure at the flavor, and trying not to stare at Josh.

Josh stares, though, and he doesn't even try to not be obvious. He stares at Tyler's face, his hands, until Tyler feels self conscious and can't help saying something.

"Umm..." he starts, "what are you looking at?"

Josh becomes aware of what he's doing. "Oh, shit!" he swears. He runs a hand through his hair, flustered. "God, Tyler, sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

It's Tyler's turn to say it's fine, then he shifts in his seat. He wants so badly to flee, but obviously he can't. Not only would it be impolite, it's just plain weird. That's how Tyler operates, though. Uncomfortable situation? Leave before the voices get the better of you.

"What's your favorite color?" Josh asks out of nowhere, and Tyler frowns.

"That's a hard one," he jokes, more at ease now. "Red."

"Mine's blue," Josh says. He points to his hair. "Isn't it obvious?" 

They fall into an easy Q&A-style conversation. Josh asks where he works, and Tyler says he's unemployed at the moment, then Tyler echoes the question back. Josh says he has a job at Guitar Center, but all he wants to do is play his drums. 

Tyler's face lights up. "You play the drums?" he asks, and Josh nods. 

"Just said so, didn't I?"

Tyler blushes slightly, and Josh says, "Just kidding."

"I play piano," says Tyler.

"Really? Wow."

"Yeah. Not as cool as the drums, obviously."

"Nah, it's way cooler."

Josh then asks him what his future plans are. Tyler rubs his chin thoughtfully, sipping his macchiato, which is slowly getting colder, and thinks. 

He has no future plans. He wants to do something that involves music, but that's all he knows. When he was a kid, he played basketball, and was excellent at it. He had a scholarship, his life was basically set up for him...but he rejected it. Music was his passion, he realized, but years and years later, he still has done nothing to pursue that career.

"I don't really have anything planned out," Tyler says, embarrassed, but Josh shrugs.

"Me neither," he says, and Tyler is surprised. It must show on his face, because Josh shakes his head. "Please tell me you didn't actually think I wanted to spend my time working at Guitar Center. I already told you I wanted to play my drums, man."

"I wasn't," Tyler says, but he's lying and they both know it. Tyler feels only slightly guilty. He hides his hands in his pockets now, because they're sitting down, and the gesture could come across as normal.

Josh has a faraway expression on his face. "I want to do something with my life," he says, "but I don't know what. I want to play music, like you, but I'm not close to achieving that dream." The faraway look morphs into frustration. "I'm stuck here," he says. "No money, no plan B, no nothing. I can't even go to college, because I can't afford it."

Tyler can understand that. His parents had money, but they were notorious for saving it, and they had three other kids to look after. "I get that," he says. "My mom and dad made me practice basketball everyday so I'd get better at it and get a scholarship to college. I had to shoot five hundred baskets every day from the 3-point line, and if I didn't do it by dinner, I didn't get to eat."

Josh looks a little disturbed. "Sounds like abuse to me, Tyler," he says, but Tyler shakes his head.

"They care about me," he says, "they just wanted me to achieve my goals. I wanted to be a basketball player, so they pushed me to achieve that."

"I guess so," Josh says, then tips his head back and downs the rest of his coffee. Tyler feels lightheaded, his heart is pumping quickly, and he doesn't want to finish his coffee because it's probably the caffeine's fault, but he doesn't want to waste Josh's money so he does the same, then offers to throw both his and Josh's cups in the trash.

"Thanks," he says, handing Tyler the cup, and Tyler throws them away, then returns back to the seat.

"So, um..." Tyler lets the sentence hang. He wants to know what's next. 

Luckily, Josh has an answer. "As much as I want to get to know you, Tyler, sitting around talking is boring. Let's go back to your place. You can show me your mad piano skills."

Tyler feels his face turn red. "What?" he says, pushing himself backwards, and Josh backpedals quickly.

"Sorry," he says, "I just wanted to see. Totally not a date, just two dudes hanging out."

 _That sounds gay,_ a voice whispers in Tyler's head, but Tyler ignores it.

"I mean, sure," he says quickly. "I'd love to, uh, show you my 'mad piano skills'. Do you want to go now?"

"Why else would I ask?"

They simultaneously stand up and leave, the warm air hitting them as they walk in the parking lot. Josh takes a deep breath. "I love the outdoors."

"Me too. I had a treehouse in my backyard. I'd climb it all the time."

"Is it still there?"

"No. It burned down."

Josh stops walking. "How?" he asks.

Tyler doesn't want to explain. He swallows, turns his head away, kicks a loose pebble on the gravel. He opts for lying. "My sister was playing up there, must've accidentally done something."

The story sounds stupid and fake, but Josh seems to buy it. He nods his head, then starts walking again. "So where's your car?"

Tyler points. "Right there. And it's not my car, actually, it's on loan from my friend, Mark."

"So your buddies are at home, too?"

Tyler shakes his head. "No, they're actually out at breakfast somewhere." He doesn't mention the fact that they're literally a street down. "He said I could use it, so...here I am."

Josh frowns, connecting the dots. "Wait - won't they be stranded here if we take it back?"

Tyler stops in front of the car just as he's about to unlock it. He frowns as well. He hadn't thought of that, and it's only just occurring to him. He sneaks a sideways peek at Josh and realises he's grinning, and with that his whole world melts. He gives into temptation.

"They can walk," Tyler says, then slides into the driver's seat. Josh laughs, long and loud, and gets into the passenger's seat.

"Harsh," he says, but they both exchange childish grins anyways, and Tyler wonders if he'll need an ambulance to treat the heart attack he feels coming on.

 

* * *

 

Michael can't stand waiting, and apparently neither can the others. They pick at their food, looking out the window as Mark talks to Tyler who's in the car. Chris and Nick have forgotten their argument completely. Nick has his face pressed up against the glass window like a little kid, watching.

Chris breaks the silence. "I knew it," he declares. "Tyler's meeting someone. Oh, he's so in love with this guy, whoever he or she is."

"I didn't think he was capable of loving someone," says Nick, earning a glare from Michael.

"Don't be mean."

"Yeah," Chris says, "don't be mean."

"Who do you think it is?" Nick asks anxiously. No one touches their food. It came when Mark ran after Tyler, but no one cares. They're all watching out the window. People are looking at them weirdly, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with them. Again, no one cares.

Michael shrugs. "Don't know, and it's none of our business," he says, clearly trying to put an end to the conversation. But then curiosity gets the better of him, and he huffs. "You think it's a guy?"

"Tyler  _is_ bi," Chris says thoughtfully.

Nick watches as Mark walks away, back towards the restaurant, and Tyler pulls out of the parking lot in his car.

"I can't believe Mark just gave him the car," Nick says, "how are we gonna get back? He better be done meeting whoever he's meeting by the time we're done eating."

"Nice rhyme. You should be a poet," suggests Michael.

"But seriously? How are we gonna get back?"

Michael shrugs. "He'll be back when we're done, probably Mark told him to." The front door opens, and Mark walks in. "Speak of the devil."

"I don't want to have to walk back!" Nick protests.

"You hate the smell of the car anyways," Chris points out.

"True. I'm just lazy."

Mark practically runs over to their table. "I saw Tyler, he pulled into the intersection," he says, and there's a mischievous look on his face. "He's in the right lane. I know where he's headed."

"Oh, you do?" Michael says, looking bored, and Chris starts eating everything in sight.

Nick is the one to catch on, and when he does, everyone can practically see a lightbulb go off over his head. "You don't mean..." he says, grinning devilishly.

"Oh, yes I do," Mark says, mirroring the devilish look, and they both start laughing slowly.

"Can someone explain, then?" asks Michael, taking a sip of orange juice.

"We're gonna follow him," Nick says, and Mark nods. 

"Affirmative."

"No," Michael says shortly. "We're not doing that. That's an invasion of his privacy! Leave the poor guy alone."

"Come on, Michael," Mark whines. "Don't you want to see where he's going, who he's meeting? Don't you dare fucking lie, I know you do."

Michael hesitates. Gears turn in his head as he weighs the pros and cons. Follow and satisfy his curiosity, or stay behind and miss out? What if Tyler sees him? Will he be mad? Is he risking their friendship? 

He stands up abruptly. "Fine," he says, "but if Tyler catches us,  _you_ can explain what we were doing." He grabs Chris and hauls him up. "Come on, let's go."

Mark cheers, Nick throws a wad of dollar bills on the table that should cover the cost, telling Mark he owes him, then they all rush from the diner, ignoring the stares they receive from everyone. Chris is wailing, "I didn't even get to finish my food!" as Michael drags him outside.

They follow Mark to the intersection and cross the street, everyone trailing behind Mark as he leads the way.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Michael asks. "I don't want to walk all around town because you think you know where Tyler went."

"There's the car," Mark answers triumphantly, and sure enough it's parked in front of a Starbucks. Michael sighs.

"How the hell did you know that?"

"I'm smart.

"Sure. Why did he even need the car if it's this close?"

"Beats me," says Mark.

"I thought you were the smart one."

"Shut up," Nick says, almost hopping from one foot to another, childishly. "Come on, I'm dying to know!"

They all make their way up to the coffee shop stealthily, because there's windows everywhere, and they don't want to be caught by Tyler. They find a bunch of bushes behind the Starbucks, which is perfect, because no one in the street can see them, and neither can anyone inside. It's the perfect spying spot.

"There he is," mutters Mark, prodding Michael and pointing. They see Tyler standing in the entrance, wearing a confused look on his face.

"Can you see who he's meeting?"

"No, shut up."

"Why? No one can hear us."

Mark watches Tyler sit down at a table, looking flustered. "Oh, no," he whispers softly. "I don't think the person's there." Everyone falls silent, a gloomy cloud settling over them, and Mark feels his heart break. Seeing Tyler in there, sitting all alone, is killing him. He'd run in there right at that moment and hug his friend, if he didn't want him to realize he was spying.

Michael purses his lips together. "Should we...go inside?" he asks tentatively. Mark opens his mouth to reply, but then a guy approaches Tyler, and he exhales. He feels relieved.

"I think that's the guy," he says excitedly.

"No way," Nick says, eyes as big as saucers. "I owe Chris so much money."

"You made a bet? You fucking idiot!" Mark snarls, but Chris hastily rescinds the bet.

"It was a joke," he says, looking properly ashamed, and the two quail under the look Mark gives them.

They sit in silence for a minute. They watch Tyler talk to the guy, then they stand in line, presumably for coffee. Mark can feel his heart pounding. He feels excited for his friend, happy for him. Tyler deserves the world. He hasn't been happy in so long. His depression follows him like a cloud, infecting his daily life, reducing him to nothing. Mark wishes Tyler would understand he's a great person, and none of them could live without him.

"Wow," is all Michael says, while Chris's stomach grumbles, and Nick watches, making no noises.

They get their coffee, Tyler looking flustered again about something while they're paying, then Mark sits up.

"Shit, they're coming over here!" he says, and they all scramble to get up, but then it's too late, Tyler and the blue-haired dude make their way over to a seat right next to the window they're under, and they're trapped. They can't stand up because he'll see them there, they can't move. They're stuck in their cramped positions for god knows how long.

"Fuck," Mark whispers, clutching onto Nick's shoulder, and Michael glares, albeit urgently. 

"I told you this was a bad idea, moron," he whispers at Mark.

"No you didn't!"

"Whatever, I said not to spy-"

"Just be quiet," snaps Chris. "Hopefully they'll be done soon."

They're not done soon. They talk for what seems like hours, and Mark is afraid to move, afraid to check his phone in case one small movement gives them away. He can hear Chris breathing on his neck, Nick whimpering because his leg is falling asleep, Michael shifting angrily. Behind them, he hears cars way over on another street, and is glad for the buildings that shield them.

Tyler and the guy keep talking. Mark feels like own legs falling asleep. He tries to move, but can't, and doesn't try again in case he causes a domino effect and exposes everyone. This was beyond a terrible idea.

Finally,  _finally,_ stand up, and Nick exhales. "Thank fuck, they're leaving," he whispers, and true to his word, Tyler and the guy both exit the Starbucks.

"Quick, let's go around and run back to the diner," Mark says urgently, and they all stand up and pelt from their hiding spot. If they go fast enough, they can reach it before Tyler comes back to return the car. But then Tyler turns around and looks, and they all have to stop and dive back into various hiding spots. Nick goes behind a dumpster, Chris ducks down behind a sign, and Mark and Michael make a beeline for another bush. Tyler doesn't see them, but they stay there anyways, not wanting to move in case he looks back again.

"Fuck," Mark mutters, as they watch Tyler and the guy get in the car. "Well, that guy must've walked here. Why is he getting in the car...?"

"Uh oh," Nick mutters, then it clicks in Mark's brain.

"Oh my god. They're going somewhere else!" he says, and shoots up from his hiding spot, scattering leaves.

"Get down," Chris says, but Mark doesn't care, he wants to run, because Tyler is so obviously taking this blue-haired individual someplace else, conveniently forgetting that he'll be stranding four of his friends. At this point, Mark doesn't care about being seen. He tries to run to the parking lot, but Michael grabs him from behind, holding him back.

"No!" he hisses, "don't!"

"I have to!" Mark says, panicking. "He's taking the guy somewhere else! In my car! That's our only means of transportation!"

Tyler drives away, pulling back into traffic, and Mark gapes. "You're kidding me! That did not just fucking happen."

"Yes, it did," Nick says unhelpfully, and Chris climbs gingerly from behind his dumpster, brushing off his pants and cringing.

"I can't believe we, as adults, just did that," he says. "We literally stalked a friend, hid behind a fucking Starbucks. My god, this is so cliche, I'm dying. We're _adults_ , not middle schoolers starring in High School Musical."

"Middle schoolers aren't in high school, dumbass," Nick says, but Mark doesn't listen. He's stunned. He pulls out his phone, determined to text Tyler.

"I've got to get our ride back," he says, but right then a voice says, "Don't move!"

Michael whips around, and freezes. Standing in front of them is a police officer, with an angry look on his face. "Care to explain what you're doing loitering in an off-limits zone?"

Great.


	6. Holding Onto You

The ride back to the apartment is not silent, and Tyler thanks god for that. He hates silence. Josh talks to him animatedly, asking what his favorite bands are, his favorite color, shit like that. It's nothing personal, just over-the-surface questions that Tyler would attribute to a kindergarten class on the first day. Questions that the teacher would force you to ask your classmates.

Josh says his favorite color is blue, which is why he likes Mark's car, and Tyler says his is red. 

"Polar opposites." Josh grins. 

"Uh huh." Tyler has to focus on driving, but he smiles quietly to himself. Josh obliviously drums on the leather seat. Tyler wonders if that's what he does, to get rid of all his excess pent-up energy. He said he was a drummer, after all. Maybe he has a touch of ADHD, too. Or something along those lines.

"Hey, you want to listen to some music?" Josh poses the question out of nowhere.

Tyler lifts one shoulder. "I guess." Then he chides himself for sounding so unenthusiastic.

Josh prods him lightly, and Tyler jumps, his hands jerking on the steering wheel. "Josh, don't do that!" he exclaims.

"Sorry," Josh says innocently, with a "sorry-not-sorry" expression on his face. Tyler glares out the window.

"So, music," Josh prompts.

"Music."

"Do you like the stuff on the radio?"

"The songs on the radio are okay," Tyler says. "But I've got, uh, some CDs back at home. I listen to those a lot."

Josh clicks the "on" button for the radio, and classical music plays. He wrinkles his nose slightly. "You listen to this? Not judging, obviously. It's just not really to my liking."

"Dude, we're going to my house so you can watch me play a classical instrument. Also, not my car, remember?"

"Your roomie listens to this?" Josh shudders, turning the radio off. "And besides, piano doesn't have to be played in classical songs. There's, like...jazz."

"Who listens to jazz?" Tyler asks, as he turns onto their street.

Josh sticks his jaw out. "Not me," he says. "I was just making a point."

"We're almost there, anyways, so it doesn't matter," Tyler says. The apartment building comes into view, and Tyler swings the Mazda into the parking lot, one hand fishing his key out of his pocket.

He parks the car in a spot, and guides Josh into the back entrance. A single security camera surveys the entryway, its Cyclops-eye lens black and ominous. "There's a staircase here," he says, and opens the door, holding it for Josh.

Josh steps inside, then looks up. "Long way up," he comments.

"We're only on the sixth floor."

Josh pretends to sigh heavily, then gestures for Tyler to lead the way. Tyler does so, with a "give-me-break" look on his face. 

When they reach their floor, Tyler puts his fingers to his lips. "Be quiet," he instructs. "There's some sketchy people on this floor. They really hate being disturbed."

"Would they hurt us if we yelled?" Josh asks, grinning, not taking Tyler seriously.

Tyler frowns. He doesn't laugh. "Probably," he says. They walk down the carpeted hallway in silence until they reach the door that belongs to Tyler and his roommates, and Tyler unlocks it, stepping inside.

"It's, uh, not much," he says. He tugs on his hair unconsciously, nervously. Worried for any judgement from Josh.

It doesn't come. "Wow, nice place," is all he says, whistling as he looks around the tiny apartment. He sniffs. "Why does it smell like something's burning, though?"

"Long story," Tyler says. It's really not, but he'd prefer not to explain the egg escapade to Josh, lest he look like a complete moron. Or make Mark look like one.

"My piano's in here," he says, and Josh follow Tyler down a little hallway to a door. "This is my room."

"What's in the Joseph Cave, huh?" Josh jokes, but Tyler takes it at face value.

"Uh. I'd prefer if...I brought the piano out," he says, chewing on his lip. His brow wrinkles. "I just...don't like people in my room."

"Oh," Josh says, deflating a little, but he perks right back up. "It's fine, man. Me too, to be honest." It's not true.

"Cool," Tyler says, relaxing, and he opens the door, slipping inside and closing it slightly so Josh can't see in. And as much as Josh wants to peek, he won't risk a friendship with Tyler to do it.

Tyler emerges ten seconds later lugging a keyboard on a stand, the long, black cord trailing behind it. He hauls it to the living room, placing it down, and Josh bends down to plug it into the nearest outlet.

"You can sit anywhere," Tyler says, so Josh drops onto the couch. He sits up straight, not slouching, and keeps his feet far away from the coffee table. He has a habit of propping his feet lazily on people's tables, and he knows it probably wouldn't fly with Tyler.

"Serenade me," he says loftily, lifting his hands like a conductor, and Tyler rolls his eyes. Josh sees him blush slightly, and smirks to himself. Tyler's so adorable. He looks so much younger than the age he gave. Like he's still an innocent teenager. Josh can see the basketball player in him, even though it's long gone now, buried deep inside of him. Another part of his personality that he's locked away.

Because Josh knows there's more to Tyler than meets the eye. And he's so curious to find out everything he can about him. He's so interested in him.

Tyler turns on the keyboard, pressing some of the keys and muttering to himself. Warming up. Then he cracks the knuckles on his left hand and takes a deep breath. "I wrote this a long time ago," he says. "Like, six months. So it'll probably suck."

"Yeah, right," Josh says, "now get on with it. I want to hear you play, Tyler Joseph."

"Shut up," Tyler says. He closes his eyes, and begins to play.

Josh is blown away. The music sounds with such raw emotion, it speaks of pain, suffering, it's a drawn-out plea, and for what Josh can't say. He's never been so emotionally scarred in his life. The music is so haunting, so beautiful, that he can't believe what he's hearing.

"What did I just hear?" he says slowly, as the song finishes.

"I haven't named it yet," Tyler says. He looks at the floor. "Jeez, that sounded...bad."

"No," Josh says. "Are you kidding me, Tyler? That was fucking amazing. You need to, like, get signed to a record label  _now._ "

"Shut up," Tyler says again, now blushing furiously because of Josh's praise.

Josh opens his mouth to say something else, but right then Tyler's phone rings.

"One sec." Tyler picks it up. "Hello?"

Josh tunes out the conversation and picks at his nails. Tyler says, "Uh huh," and "what?" and "okay, I'll be right there. Shit, dude. Why?" Josh is confused when Tyler hangs up.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Uh, my friends just got picked up," Tyler says, already unplugging the keyboard hurriedly, packing it away.

"By who?" Josh stands up.

"The cops."

" _What?_ "

"Yeah. We have to go get them. Please, Josh, I'm sorry, I gotta go."

Josh comes over to Tyler. Touches him gently on the shoulder. Tyler doesn't flinch away.

"Don't worry, Joseph. Of course I'm fucking coming with you."

Tyler grins. Josh grins back.

 

 


	7. Car Radio

The "interrogation" room isn't like Michael would have imagined. There are no dark painted walls, no hot lights in the face, not even a one-way mirror. It's just a tan-painted room with a couple of armchairs, a desk, and a police officer staring at them over the rim of his glasses.

Chris sits on his left, and Nick on his right, fidgeting uncomfortably as the officer writes something down on a piece of paper. Mark sits next to Chris. Michael wonders how it was possible for everyone to be so silent; they're usually loud, obnoxious, and boisterous.

 _Tyler would hate it here,_ he reflected.

The officer finishes and looks up. "So who's first to explain what you were doing?" he asks, in a tone that warns them all not to pull any bullshit. Like they would try, anyways. They may joke around, but law enforcement isn't funny.

"Thanks, Mark," Chris mutters ominously under his breath, and Michael speaks up.

"Sir," he starts, allocating the officer that perfunctory title, "we were hiding out back there and spying on someone."

The officer looks at Michael. "What?"

Mark groans. "It wasn't that bad. We were, like, spying on a friend who was meeting someone there."

The glasses on the officer's face slip down; he pushes them back up. Michael notices how straight his nose is. You could lie a ruler flat on it.

"Our friend was meeting someone at the Starbucks," Michael confirms. "We didn't know it was an off-limits zone or anything, we just wanted to see who he was meeting."

"I see," the officer says, and leaves it at that. He writes something else down. Michael wonders why he's even bothering. While he is technically obligated to report things like this, they didn't know they were in an off-limits area. It was the back of a Starbucks, how could they know? He hopes their names didn't get collected and put on a criminal record or some shit like that.

If you're going to have a criminal record, it has to at least be good.

"Well," the officer continues. "I don't want to see any of you back there again."

Michael is stunned. _That's it? Jesus, he hauled our asses all the way back here just to give us a lecture and let us go?_ He almost shouts in anger, and Nick seems to be thinking along those lines.

The officer points at Michael. "You didn't have a car when I found you. Do you need someone to come get you?"

 _As if we're seventeen and selling pot on the side of the road._ "Yeah," Michael says instead, trying to keep his temper in check. The last thing he needs is another thirty minutes sitting here for no reason. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through the contacts. Brendon's actually dealing pot somewhere, Ashley is at work...he sighs, then hits Tyler's name. As much as he doesn't want to interrupt his date, he took Mark's car. He totally deserves to have to come pick them up.

He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding when Tyler picks up. "Tyler!" he says, relieved. "I need you to come get us, like, now. In the car." He's aware of four pairs of eyes on him, but he ignores them all. "We're, er...at the police station." Michael gives him the address, even though Tyler probably knows where it is - it's the only station in town - then says, "You got that?"

"Uh huh," Tyler says, and Michael can hear the doubt in his voice. Like he doesn't know if they're pulling a prank on him or not. He sighs. He owes Tyler the truth, even though Tyler didn't ask for it.

"We were spying on you," he says firmly, and Mark yells, " _Michael!"_ as Chris groans, dragging his hands down his face. Nick crosses his arms.

"What?" Tyler yelps.

"Dude, dude, I'll explain when you get here. But please, just hurry," Michael says. The officer glances at a clock behind them, then stands up, coming around the desk.

"Okay, I'll be right there," Tyler says weakly. Then he adds: "Shit, dude. Why?"

"I'll explain when you come," Michael says. "Sorry, man. Not my idea. Well, not really. You can thank Mark."

"Way to pass the blame," Mark snaps, turning away from Michael. "You wanted to, too! Really mature, dude."

Michael ignores them. "Thank you, Tyler," he says. There's silence from Tyler's end, and he realizes Tyler hung up. He clenches his phone in his hand way too hard and looks up the ceiling. The officer raises an eyebrow.

"All done?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Come with me." The officer leads them back into the reception area of the headquarters, then directs them to more chairs. "He can come in physically and get you all," he says, and once more Michael is forcefully reminded of being a teenager. He was never arrested as a teenager, but the condescending way they're being treated is so real, Michael can't resist saying, "What's your badge number, Officer?"

The officer stares. "Why?"

"So I can report you for wasting our time. Man, you didn't need to drag us all the way over here because we accidentally went in a place we weren't supposed to go."

"Watch it," the officer warns. "You want to see a fine?"

"Not really."

"Then be quiet."

"Dude, just shut up," Nick says tiredly, slumping in his chair.

"Whatever." Michael scowls. "This wasn't my idea, anyways."

"You still went along with it."

"Nick."

"What?"

"I don't give a shit. It was you and Mark that convinced me."

Nick opens his mouth to retort, but Mark shoots him a _leave him alone_ look, and he stops.

Ten minutes later, Tyler walks into the lobby, phone in hand, a confused look on his face. Michael jumps up. "Tyler, thank god," he says. "Take us the hell out of here."

"I'll be driving," Mark says, stepping forward to take the keys from Tyler's left hand. Then he stops short, and notices the person standing slightly behind him. His mouth falls open, and he immediately closes it.

"Um," Michael says, at a loss for words.

The guy has blue hair, gauges in his ears, and an easy smile on his face. "Hi," he says, waving. "I'm Josh."

"Hey," Nick says hesitantly, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets. Michael would if he was wearing any, but he's not, he's wearing a pair of basketball shorts, and now a frown.

"You've seen me before," Josh says, smiling, "so why're you all looking at me like I'm an alien or something?"

Tyler looks so embarrassed that Michael physically cringes, and Mark unconsciously steps behind Chris, like he's a human shield to stop Josh's rays of judgement. But there's no judgement forthcoming, just that smile that shows two rows of _perfect_ teeth.

"You told him?" Chris asks, and when Tyler nods he goes white. "Dude, oh my god, we're fucking sorry. We're all idiots. I'm an idiot. Jesus, man, we are so in the wrong-"

"It's fine," Josh says, stopping Chris's rant, and shooting a quick look at Tyler, who doesn't notice. He's too busy staring at a spot just over Michael's left shoulder.

Josh pokes Tyler, who seems to be jolted back to reality. "So, uh, you gonna pick up your friends or what?"

"Right, right," Tyler says in a small voice. "Um...car's outside? Obviously. Come on."

Michael follows Tyler, prompting everyone else to do so, and they walk outside. Josh holds one of the heavy glass doors open for everyone, smiling especially at Mark, and Michael wonders if he knows that it's he that started this whole thing. Then he wonders that if Josh does know, then how does he? Michael never told Tyler.

When they approach the car, there's a small problem, however. Chris is the first to voice it. "How the fuck are we all gonna fit in there?" he asks.

Tyler studies the car. "Josh can ride in the front," he declares, and Michael starts. Now he has a name to that face. _Josh._

"Who's Josh?" Nick asks sleepily, and he looks tired, yawning and stretching his arms, even though it's only mid-morning bordering on afternoon, and he was wide-awake not an hour ago.

Chris snorts. "You're stupid."

"Guys, shut up," Michael says, stepping forward. "Okay...Josh rides in the front, Mark drives, everyone else in the back? Sounds like a plan. Let's go." He's impatient, eager to get out of the police station parking lot. He wants to go home and watch football and eat chips since this "adventure" was clearly a disaster.

"I don't have to ride in the front," Josh says. "One of you can."

"No, you're staying in the front," Michael says stubbornly. The vibes he's getting off of Josh make him uncomfortable, and he'll be damned if he has to be squeezed into a tiny seat next to him for a ten-minute ride.

Josh just shrugs. "Whatever you say."

Tyler hands Mark his keys, and Mark gets into the driver's seat. "If we get into an accident and you all die because this car is made to hold five people, not six, it's Michael's fault," he says.

"Yeah, yeah," Michael says, getting into the backseat. Tyler follows, then Nick, and finally Chris, and Michael is glad Tyler is sitting next to him. The car is _cramped,_ he's already smushed against the door uncomfortably, but Tyler is skinny. Michael barely notices him there.

Mark turns on the engine, then his eyes fall to something shiny and silver on the ground, and he gasps. "Who the fuck messed with my vintage Volume #3 classical CD song collection?"

Josh turns in the passenger seat to grin at Tyler, who smiles weakly back.

_This ride better be fucking over quickly._

 

* * *

 

 

It's over quickly. While the ride is annoying, barely anyone makes conversation, and Michael begins to daydream, his thoughts wandering, until finally the car stops, and Nick says, "Finally."

Josh takes a stab at starting up a conversation. "I know, right?" he agrees, even though it's not really relatable since he had the comfort and space of the shotgun seat. Michael almost wants to hate him for that, but he knows that's irrational.

"He wasn't referring to the car ride," Tyler tells Josh. His voice cracks on the word "car" and Michael holds back a laugh. Josh, however, seems to be completely enraptured by his voice, and he has that lazy, apathetic smile on his face again. "He doesn't like the smell of the car."

"Tyler, shut the fuck up. If you had half a nose on you, you'd know it smells like shit in there."

"Don't insult my car when you don't have one, buddy," Mark says, emerging from the front seat and slamming the door shut. With a click on the key, he locks it, and there's a loud beeping noise as the car alarm is activated. "Let's go," he says, going through the back door of the apartment building and beginning the climb up the stairs. His footsteps echo. The others follow him.

Josh turns to him. "Do you still want me to go inside with you?" he asks.

"I-I-" Tyler stutters, but Josh cuts him off.

"It's fine," he says. "I had a good time already, man. My ears have been blessed by your epic piano skills."

That evokes a rare smile from Tyler. A genuine one, all crooked teeth and bright eyes. Josh never wants Tyler to stop smiling again.

"I'll see you some other time?" Josh asks, and Tyler playfully pushes him, forgetting all about the "no contact" thing.

"Yeah, dude," he says. "Of course. I had fun, too."

"Cool," Josh says, flashing double peace signs.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That-" Tyler mimics the peace signs. "You don't do that, Josh. You're only supposed to do one."

"Says who?" Josh asks, putting folding his arms across his chest.

"It's, like, a universal thing, Josh. You don't do double peace signs. That's the epitome of lame."

"No. It's the epitome of amazing stuff."

"You don't know what 'epitome' means, do you?"

"Nope."

Tyler stands there for a minute, biting his lip, then suddenly steps forward and embraces Josh in a hug. Josh is surprised at first, but then leans forward, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. He can smell shampoo. It smells like mint.

"Bye, Josh," Tyler says.

Josh turns around, walks away, turns back, waves. He's walking backwards. He could trip and fall. He doesn't care. "Bye, Tyler."

Tyler remembers something. "You walked to the Starbucks," he says. "How are you gonna get back?"

"I enjoy walking. It's fine. I don't want a repeat of the car thingy anyways, and your friend might not be so eager to lend you it anymore anyways," Josh says.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely," Josh says, louder because he's farther away now, almost to the end of the parking lot. "Goodbye!"

"Bye," Tyler says, but Josh doesn't catch it. He waits until the head of blue hair has disappeared up the street before going inside, up the stairs, and back into the apartment.

Everyone looks up when he comes in. Michael rises from where he's sitting on the couch. "Tyler-"

"It doesn't matter," Tyler says, cutting him off. He's getting a headache, he wants to lie down, he doesn't want the sudden rush of emotions to trigger him into splitting. He doesn't know how he feels.

He goes into his room, slides down onto the floor, and closes his eyes, back against the wall. "Shit," he says.

He doesn't know Josh is walking along the highway, kicking a stone on the ground, and saying the same thing.


	8. Not Today

On Monday, everyone goes to work except Tyler, and he's always been self-conscious about that.

Sure, he's had jobs before, but when he reached adulthood he lost motivation to drag himself up and force himself to spend his days in a dead-end job for eight hours. It was time he'd rather spend alone, or doing something he enjoyed. After all, his days were limited. If you really thought about it, weighing in school and the amount of things he never wanted to do in life but had to, only a quarter of his life was really being lived. And he didn't want to spend it at work.

Mark is the manager at their local supermarket, Chris and Nick work as carpenters, Chris as an assistant manager and Nick just as one of their workers, but both seem to love their jobs and work together nicely. Michael works in technology, with a degree in electrical engineering.

Mark, being the only one to own a car, usually drops everyone off to their respective jobs. Chris doesn't have a license, Michael keeps talking about buying a car but keeps procrastinating, and Nick says he'll just bum a ride off Mark. Mark constantly says he'll refuse to let Nick in his car, but always relents.

When Tyler wakes up, everyone is gone to work, and he has a text from Mark on his phone asking him if he wants anything while he's out. Food-wise, considering Mark's job. As if Tyler is too inept to get up himself.

He doesn't want anything, anyways.

Tyler rolls out of bed, yawning, and heads to the hallway bathroom. He usually sleeps without a shirt on, so he wouldn't risk walking through the apartment without it on, but the absence of everyone means he doesn't care.

Tyler brushes his teeth, avoiding gazing into the mirror, and heads back to his room, where he pulls on some fresh clothes. In the corner of the room, the piano catches his eye, and he turns away from it.

When he goes into the kitchen, he heads to the fridge, pours himself a glass of orange juice, and drinks it slowly. He really has nothing to do for the day, and his thoughts wander to Josh. 

Tyler wonders if he's working. He said he had a job at their resident Guitar Center, and that's only a couple blocks away. Walking distance. Everything in their little town is in close proximity to their apartment, a prime factor in why the gang picked it out. That, and the adventure appeal of living together.

Of course, the appeal has worn off by now; Mark and Michael discuss getting separate apartments, and Nick and Chris want to move completely out of town. They would, if everyone wasn't so lazy.

Mark invited Tyler to live with him, but Tyler politely turned him down, no matter how tempting the offer was. But it brought him back to something he once thought to himself:  _No one really wants to be alone._

Tyler dumps his glass in the sink and heads back to his room, unplugging his phone from his charger where he'd plugged it in and unlocking it. Indecisive, his finger hovers over the contacts button before he finally clicks it, opening up his conversation with Josh.

_Hey man, you doing anything today?_

Josh doesn't reply right away, but he does.

 **I'm working, sorry** , he sends, followed by a bored face emoticon.

_Oh._

**Come to work with me, man. You know where I work.**

_Really?_

**Yeah, I'm bored as shit here. You can keep me company. ;)**

_okay._

At that point, Josh stops sending texts, and Tyler assumes his manager called him back to work, or something along those lines. He grabs his spare key and exits the apartment, taking a deep breath.

The voices are in his head again.

_You think you're fucking special because some blue-haired fool invited you to sit and watch him do his job for six hours? You're not._

Tyler wants to cut out his eardrums. That's illogical, he knows, but he's about ready to do anything to rid himself of the voices. They keep him up at night, they haunt almost every one of his waking moments. They make living life, something that should be easy in principle, a nightmare. Add the voices to his BPD, and he's got the fucking works.

He thinks it was his imagination, but one night as he struggled to sleep, all drowsy but at the same time wide-awake from the sleeping pills, he thought he heard laughter, followed by a shadow that flitted across his vision as fast as anything. It had a blurry face, and jagged features. 

Tyler didn't sleep that night. Mark had to sit by him for an hour, trying to convince him there was nothing there.

Tyler wonders why his friends stick around. He's not normal, and they know it, and he knows it, but still they're here for him. 

The air is warm outside; he doesn't need a jacket. He crosses the parking lot, gravel crunching under his shoe, and hums to himself. He worked on a song, and the lyrics replay themselves over and over in his head.

~~I'm a goner,~~

~~Somebody catch my breath.~~

Tyler's a goner.

The voices make sure of that.

He walks past shops and people, and no one stares, but still Tyler feels small, like the world is watching him, pressing its eye directly to the top of his head, and his skin crawls, and he shivers despite the heat. And all the while the words replay themselves in his mind, over and over again. Ceaselessly, painfully, they reach a crescendo in his head until he feels like there's no way he's not actually screaming the words out loud.

~~I'm a goner!~~

~~Somebody catch my breath!~~

~~Don't let me be gone!~~

~~Don't let me be gone...~~

~~Don't let me be-~~

_Don't let me be gone,_ he pleads to the sky, and as ever, gets no response.

The red logo of Guitar Center comes into view, and he walks inside. The bell chimes softly. The inside of the shop is cool, air conditioned, various instruments are stacked in long rows along the walls, on shelves, the shop is huge. Tyler walks around in awe, never really having been in the shop, until he reaches the front counter. A guy with acne, a wispy beard, and a weak chin mans the counter, absently picking at his cuticles until Tyler wants to tell him to stop, because they're bleeding. The blood makes Tyler uncomfortable.

"Uh," he says, in lieu of a greeting, and the guy looks up.

"Oh! Sorry. Can I help you?" he says.

Tyler scratches his neck. "Is there a guy named Josh here?" he asks, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and the guy stares dumbly at him, before saying, "Yeah, do you want him to come over here?"

_No, I want you to kill him for me and bury his body._

"Yes," Tyler says.

"Y'know, you can ask me any questions you have," the guy says. He shifts in his uniform.

"I want to talk to Josh," Tyler insists, still polite, and the guy frowns.

"Whatever, man." He turns around. "Josh!" he bellows, "a customer up here wants you."

"Coming," Josh calls back, and moments later he appears, grin on his face, this time blue gauges in his ears that match his hair, and weird eyeliner. Tyler is taken aback. He didn't know Josh wore eyeliner. Is he emo or something? Tyler wonders.

"'Sup, man," Josh says, but it's not a question, more of a greeting. Still, Tyler answers.

"I'm okay," he says. "You?"

"Phenomenal," Josh says sarcastically. He gestures behind him. "I have five more boxes of ukuleles to hang. Five fucking boxes. Who plays the ukulele, anyways?" He snorts.

Tyler flushes. "Er..."

Josh's eyes widen. "Tyler Joseph, you continue to amaze me," he says. "You play more than the piano?"

"Yeah," Tyler says. "I, uh - yeah."

"Spill." 

"Just the piano and the ukulele," Tyler says. "I can, um, do other things related to music, but I only play those instruments."

"Ah," Josh says. He rocks back on forth on the balls of his feet, never ceasing movement, always cheerful and hyperactive. Kind of like Tyler, only Tyler is just the hyperactive part. He can never stay still. Even now his fingers twitch slightly, of their own accord.

"You can, like, come around back and watch me do stuff," Josh suggests, like it's the most boring thing in the world. "I don't even know why you wanted to come down here, man. You must've been bored to want to watch me meander around this old place, dealing with idiotic customers and shit like that."

"I was," Tyler says, "clearly." But he agrees to go to the back with Josh, and they talk while Josh puts instruments on display, and he sits in the back room when Josh is called to help a customer.

After an hour, Josh goes on lunch break, and he hands Tyler part of his lunch, which happens to be Taco Bell.

"A friend dropped it off while I was up front," he explains, and he hands Tyler a chalupa.

"It's almost like you know what I like," Tyler says, smiling down at his food. To that, Josh grins mysteriously.

"Maybe I do know. Maybe I'm not guessing," he says, and Tyler edges away slightly.

"Shut up, dude, you're freaking me out," he jokes.

They eat in silence, because Josh tried to ask Tyler a question about jobs and ended up getting a piece of taco shell stuck in his throat.

"Taco Hell, not Taco Bell," he wheezes as Tyler frantically fetches him his discarded soda, which is sitting on the ground by Josh's feet.

When Josh unlodges the taco piece from his throat, he looks up at Tyler. "I asked if you were planning on getting a job," he says. "I mean, it's not fun, but you gotta be on a payroll, man. Earn money and stuff."

"I don't really want to," Tyler says. He stretches out one leg, they're sitting on the ground in the back and he's cramping up. "I just want to, like, play my instruments till I die."

"I guess you could do that." Josh takes a sip of his soda. "But don't you want to do anything?"

"No." Tyler leaves it at that.

When they finish lunch, Josh invites Tyler to his house. Tyler declines, apologising, but saying he's tired and really wants to go home and sleep, to which Josh replies with a joke about how he was the one doing the work. Upon seeing the look on Tyler's face, though, he hurriedly takes back the joke.

"But if you do come, bring your ukulele," Josh says. "I'll even pick you up. You won't have to borrow your roomie's car."

Tyler hesitates, then steps forward. He doesn't know how to say goodbye. They're reaching a point where they're friends, but  _good_ friends. A simple goodbye just seems...weird. Should he shake Josh's hand, hug him again? The last hug was awkward as hell. Tyler doesn't want a repeat of that.

Josh is mirroring his thoughts. He chews his bottom lip. Tyler sees it's chapped, but nowhere near as chapped as his own. His lips are stuck in a state of perpetual chapped-ness, always dry and cracking. Chewing them is his habit, and a bad one at that.

"Let's make a handshake," Josh suggests suddenly, and Tyler agrees.

"Dude, that sounds...cool, actually. So next time we will?"

"How do we say goodbye this time?" Josh pouts, but Tyler says, "Goodbye, Josh," shaking his head and leaving.

Josh shrugs. "Bye, Tyler. Text me later, dude."

"Okay."

"Okay."

As Tyler walks home, he trips on something in front of a TV store. Throwing out a hand, he steadies himself carefully on the wall, ignoring a look from a passerby in a suit. He looks down at what he tripped on, and sees it.

It's a tattered book, thin and small, with a faded cover. Curious, Tyler picks it up, turning it over in his hands. The cover is rough, dirty, no wonder the book was thrown away. The cover art is bland, just a bunch of lines running down, then horizontal, then down again. It's green, and as Tyler's eyes roam the front, he sees the words  _All My Sons_ stamped on it in black.

He opens it and examines it. It seems to be a play, he notices as he skims through it. That intrigues him. He has nothing better to do, really, and now he kind of wants to see what the book is about. Even if it turns out to be trash, it's better than doing nothing, right?

Feeling confused but satisfied, Tyler pockets the thin book and heads home.

 

 


	9. Stressed Out

When Tyler gets home, no one's back yet. They're all still at work, so he lays down on the couch, propping his feet up, and opens up the dusty tome. While it looks like a grueling read, Tyler has never been one to cast aside any piece of art, or judge it before he really feels like he understands it on a spiritual level.

And besides, he has nothing better to do, and this play piques his interest.

A name, "Arthur Miller", is stamped on the front, in such small font he hasn't noticed it before. Tyler assumes, rightly so, that this is the guy that scripted the play.

The pages are brittle and yellowed, and when he opens it, the book physically cracks in his hands. He wrinkles his nose at the musty smell, and sets about reading.

It's set in World War II, in a small town, and this guy who makes airplane parts for the war at the time found out that his parts were faulty, so he came to a moral crossroads. He had to make a decision; send the parts out or recall them? Sending the parts would benefit him then, which was the wrong thing to do.

Tyler immerses himself in the book, and a shadow falls over him as the sun goes down. The ending is what he expected, albeit a pretty disappointing one.

The shop proprietor ended up sending out the parts, and twenty-one pilots died because he did. His son was one of the pilots and ended up dying, but there was no way of correlating the two. But at the end, when his daughter found out he sent out the parts, she ultimately blamed her dad for her brother’s death. He tried to justify why he made the decision he did, and in the end he ended up killing himself.

Tyler feels odd about that ending, and as he sets the book down he thinks hard about that. How it relates so much to his own life. How he's locked in a constant internal struggle everyday, how he sees the world in black and white, how everything is so  _cold_ , how the choices he makes always seem to impact him in the worst possible way. He struggles to come up with an explanation for how he feels, but he feels connected to the book - the parts manufacturer in particular - more than he can say.

Which is stupid, he reasons, considering it's only a piece of fiction.

Mark comes in with a curse as his keys clatter onto the tiles, and an armful of groceries. 

Tyler springs up, ready to help.

"Oh, hey, Tyler," Mark says, and Tyler relieves him of the bags. They're heavy and freezing. Tyler peers in. There's meat, milk, bread, more eggs, some chips. Tyler hopes Mark isn't planning on cooking any of this stuff. 

"You guys owe me," Mark says, "I always pay for stuff." He bends down to grab his keys, and Tyler sets the bags down on the counter, beginning to unload the food and put it away. Mark groans and stretches. "My stupid car broke down halfway here," he says, "and it's a 2017 car. I mean, come on."

Tyler doesn't know how to reply to that. He just says, "Oh," and continues putting food away. Mark comes over to help. 

Tyler notices how Mark always tries to make a point of not swearing in front of him directly. Sure, he did it outside, he slips up a couple times, but he always tries to avoid profanity for Tyler's sake, since he doesn't like it. The religious upbringing and constant berating as a child instilled in him an aversion for those words. He just doesn't curse. Period.

Much.

"Aren't you going to pick up the others?" Tyler asks, and Mark actually smiles at that.

"No," he says. "Michael swung by the dealership to get a car today. I dropped him off there this morning. He'll be driving out in his new fancy vehicle."

"Cool," Tyler says, "Now we have two chauffeurs."

"What makes you think we're letting you in there?" Mark asks lightly, then bumps Tyler's shoulder to let him know he's kidding. Then he changes the subject. "So what were you doing, sir? It's unlike any of us to disturb the comings and goings of Tyler Joseph."

"I visited that guy again at his job. You know, Josh."

"Dude, that's awesome," Mark says, and he sounds excited, and now he wants all the details, and suddenly Tyler's too tired to bother with Mark. But he tells him anyways.

"We, like, hung around in the back room, and I shadowed him. I felt like an intern half the time, but it was okay. We talked, so it wasn't too boring. Then we ate tacos for lunch."

"Sounds like a date," Mark says, heading out of the kitchen and flopping onto the couch, exactly where Tyler lay ten minutes ago.

"It wasn't!"

"Yeah, yeah," Mark says. He turns on the TV. "Ew...who left it on the golf channel?"

 

* * *

 

Michael comes home with a furious expression on his face. Nick is actually cowering, because Michael is a huge and imposing figure. He may not have any facial hair, he may have soft hands, like Tyler's own, actually, but he is  _mad._ He has Chris by the arm, like a little kid, he drags him like a dog into the living room, Nick following behind.

Tyler moves from the kitchen into the living room just in time to see Michael propel Chris forward, and Mark's shocked expression.

"Dude, what the heck?" Mark says. "What's going on?"

"Salih here is getting himself a driver's license tomorrow. He's going to get his ass to the DMV, pass the fucking driver's test, and get himself a car. I'll even pay for some of it. He's not riding in my car ever again."

"Why?" Mark demands, swinging his legs off the couch and facing Michael. Chris's face is a mixture of scared and angry as he balls his fists, and Nick just takes a step back, eyes flicking from Michael to Mark, like they're an interesting tennis match.

Tyler steps behind Mark as Michael answers. "Because he's an idiot," Michael says, which is not really an explanation. Mark sighs.

"Nick?" he says. "You want to explain?"

"Not really," Nick says in a small voice.

Mark throws up his hands. "I swear to god, this household is like a reality TV show. It's so cliche I want to throw up. Fine. Whatever." He points at Chris. "You better study," he warns him. "Or Michael might bash in your skull."

"You almost ruined my new car," Michael accuses Chris. "Do you think it's easy paying off those monthly installments? How will it look if I wreck a car before I even pay it off? I think the fuck not. Here," Michael says, and takes out his phone. "I'll email you the DMV Manual."

"I think it's impossible to pass a driver's test with one day of study," Tyler says, quietly, because Michael is angry and Tyler doesn't want to be the object of his hate, but it's true.

"He's studied. He's just too scared to take it."

"That's not true," Chris protests, and Michael rounds on him.

"Shut the hell up, Chris. You have angorophobia, so what? But you are getting in a car and learning how to drive. It's about damn time."

"Woah, woah," Mark says. "Okay, look. I was just kidding-"

"You do that a lot, Mark, and it's annoying-"

"-but let's not be too hasty," Mark says loudly, interrupting Michael. "Let's give him a few months to study-"

"Even Tyler has a license, and he doesn't even own a car! I'm not shuffling this man around for two months."

"I'll do it," says Mark. He scrubs his face. He has a tired expression on. He leans back into the couch, which seems to swallow his whole body. Tyler sees actual wrinkles on his face. He may be young, but at this moment, he seems so very old.

Michael sets his jaw, anger apparent behind his dark eyes. He has anger issues. Everyone knows it. But he reins them in. "Fine," he says. "But Chris, you better get a fucking license."

"I will," Chris snaps, "and in return, you stop being such an asshole."

The room goes quiet. Nick pales further. Michael steps forward dangerously.

"Watch it, Chris," he mutters quietly, ominously, and Mark stands up.

"We're not doing this shit again," he announces. "Break it up, you two."

Neither of them listen. Michael invades Chris's personal space. "You are the asshole," he says, punctuation each word with a poke to Chris's chest. Chris stands up as tall as he can, sticking his face up to Michael's. He's shorter than him, but no less menacing. But he doesn't make a move yet, just stands there.

Michael pokes him again. "Nothing to say, Salih?" he asks, and Tyler can see what's going to happen next.  _It's just a driver's license!_ he wants to shout, but he doesn't. He doesn't because he's a coward in that moment.

The next things happen in slow motion.

Chris pushes Michael back, and unprepared, he trips, falling into the arm of the couch and hitting his head.

The next moment, he's springing up, launching a punch at Chris, who dodges it.

Mark shouts at them to stop, Nick runs forward and tries to drag Chris away, but they aren't stopping. Chris strains against Nick, who has his arms around Chris's waist, and Mark is trying to stop Michael to no avail.

Michael punches Chris in the stomach, Chris coughs and shoves Nick away, dodging another blow, and Mark tries to shove Michael away.

"Tyler, help me!" he cries as he latches onto one of Michael's arms.

Michael has anger issues, and everybody knows it. And when he's in the heat of the moment, nothing short of a bulldozer can drop him.

But they can damn well try.

Tyler leaps forward, grabbing Michael's left arm, and together they drag him back as Chris doubles over, coughing. Nick's face is worried, and he's asking Chris what he needs, and if he needs to lie down, but Chris waves him off.

Michael flails, howls, screams, " _Get the fuck off of me!_ " but Tyler isn't letting go. Mark's face is calm, Mark's face is shocked, but together the two men drag Michael over to the couch.

"Michael - fucking  _sit_ ," Mark pants. "Dude, you gotta calm down! Go to your happy place or something."

Not the right time to make a joke.

Michael tears his arm from Mark's grasp. "Shut up," he growls. "This is your fault, too. If you weren't such an idiot, trying to make a joke out of everything, dragging me into trouble, hell, if you hadn't invited me to live here, none of this would have happened."

Nick steps forward. "Dude," he says, "not cool. You don't mean that. Take it back."

Tyler loosens his grip slightly, and Mark's eyes are wide as he looks at his angry friend. "You don't mean that," he repeats, dumbfounded.

"I mean it," Michael says. He points. Accusingly. "I'm sick of looking at you all," he says. "Nick, with your stupid whining voice, Chris, you literally are scared of cars, and Mark, you stupid fucker, always making jokes all the damn time."

Michael was always angry.

Michael had problems.

None of them knew just how long he kept these feelings bottled up.

Everyone knows Michael isn't thinking, that his anger issues are acting up, that he isn't being rational, but it still hurts.

Michael rounds on Tyler. "And you," he says, "you're like the pity child of this group, with your fucked up head and your stupid piano."

That snaps Mark out of his daze. With an angry shout, he launches himself at Michael, and Chris is on his heels, and Nick is shouting, " _You motherfucker!"_

All the while, Tyler sits there, stunned. Unable to breath. The room is tilting around him, and there's a loud noise in his ears accompanied by a ringing in his brain. Not comprehending.

Michael, who was on his side, Michael who stole him Mark's keys, Michael who was always there for him no matter what. Michael, who Tyler considered almost a brother.

And Michael, who is telling Tyler how he really feels about him.

The inner turmoil he feels reaches a peak, and the fear, the doubt, the gnawing pain on the inside of his gut go away, replaced by pure fury.

 _All My Sons_ relates to Tyler because of the inner struggles Tyler goes through. The moral anguish, the decisions, each thought that he takes too long to process in his violent mind.

Tyler lets go of Michael's arm, and throws a punch, right to his face, as hard as he can. Red dances behind his eyes, anger radiates off of his being, the punch is not calculated, it's desperate, furious, just a need to connect his fist with his tormentor's face.

And it does connect, it ricochets off Michael's nose, and he reels back. Blood immediately spurts from his nostrils. Mark shouts, Chris grabs Tyler and holds him still, and Nick is running to the kitchen to grab ice.

Holding onto Tyler was a bad move on Chris's part. Michael recovers, and as he does, both of Tyler's arms are pinned, and he's there, a perfect target, a punching bag for all the anger Michael keeps inside.

Something screams inside him. He doesn't want to hurt his friend. But he wants to hurt someone, and Tyler is sitting right there, and Tyler just punched him, and he wants Tyler to hurt.

Michael grabs onto Tyler's hair, and pulls him forward. Chris lets go in surprise, and Michael connects his fist to Tyler's jaw. Tyler falls back onto the arm of the couch, but Michael isn't done. He leans over Tyler, lying on top of him. They're both lying lengthwise on the couch, Tyler has one hand on his jaw to cull the blooming pain there, but Michael isn't done. He grabs Tyler by the shoulders, hits him again in the temple, then slams him back down.

Chris is yelling at him to stop, he's clawing at Michael, Mark is trying to drag him off, and there's a furious knocking on the front door, but no one notices. Nick runs from the kitchen, dropping a plastic bag of ice in shock. " _What the fuck?"_ he demands.

Michael ignores Mark and Chris. He grabs Tyler's neck, choking him, Tyler chokes, and Michael grins as he watches his pupils dilate. Then he gets go suddenly, pulling back his fist and smashing it into Tyler's nose. 

Tyler feels his nose break. Blood spurts everywhere, on his shirt, on Michael, even on Chris and Mark.

"Stop!" Mark howls, but Michael gets in a last word.

"Have a taste of that," he spits, then stands up. Shrugging off Chris and Mark, he goes to the front door and opens it.

A woman, a neighbor with gray hair and a frown, stands there in her robe, tapping her foot on the carpet. As Michael leaves, she furiously opens her mouth, probably wanting to complain about the noise, but Michael storms down the hallway. Then he's gone.

Mark kneels down besides Tyler, who's draped over the arm of the couch, his nose bleeding profusely, and he's coughing. His lungs can't suck in enough air, his head hurts, and he feels so bad inside. The voices are screaming at him for being weak, for letting himself be overcome. 

Chris bends down to pick up the fallen ice while Nick explains that they were watching football and being overly enthusiastic about it, even though football doesn't involve the words "Stop!" and screaming and pleading. The woman looks angry, but Nick apologises politely, even bribes her by giving her an egg, which shuts her up. Then he excuses himself and shuts the door.

Hopefully, she won't report them.

"Here," Chris says, and gently applies the ice to Tyler's head. His eyes water. 

"It hurts," he says unnecessarily. Mark rubs his shoulders.

"Jesus, Tyler, Michael beat the shit out of you," he says, and he doesn't even care about the swears. Neither does Tyler. He's in too much pain to care. "I've never see Michael get so angry. I can't believe he said those things." Now Mark looks angry. "He's going to pay for it, Tyler, I promise. I'm kicking him out. I can't believe we're friends with that guy."

"No, don't," Tyler says weakly. "That'll make it worse. He just needs to...to calm down."

The room is spinning again. He feels a migraine coming on. He feels like throwing up. Mark's face swims in and out of focus, while Chris whispers quietly to Nick.

Mark sighs. "Come on, Ty," he says, and he scoops Tyler up like a child. Tyler buries his face into Mark's shirt, getting more blood on him, but Mark doesn't even care, he just carries Tyler back to his room and sets him on the bed.

"I'm going to get some Advil and more ice," Mark says, stepping away from the bed and going back into the hallway. "I'll be right back. Stay here."

Tyler's not going anywhere. As the pain reaches a peak, he cries. When Mark comes back, he hugs Tyler, then hands him his phone.

"You wanna talk to Josh?" he asks, and Tyler takes a second to process that name, because getting the stuffing knocked out of him really put Josh as a last priority. But he accepts the device anyways and texts Josh.

Josh replies immediately.

 _Hey!_ he says,  _I'm driving._ _What's up?_

It takes Tyler a while, but he manages to shakily type out out a response. Many times he makes a spelling error and has to backtrack to fix it. The light from the phone hurts his eyes, so he turns the brightness down.

Josh is speechless through his phone.

 _Michael?_ he says.  _Michael, the buff guy with the brownish hair? Holy crap, he's the one that beat you up? Oh my god Tyler what the hell????_

 **I know,** Tyler texts back.  **He said some stuff to me, too.**

_Like what?_

But Tyler doesn't want to explain. He already feels bad enough inside without having to relive the experience. Instead he tells Josh he wants to rest his head.

 _Tyler, I will come over there,_ Josh says.

**You dont have to.**

_i want to dude. You don't wanna be alien._

**Alien?**

_Oops, autocorrect. I meant alone._

He's right. Tyler doesn't want to be alone. He's not really; he has Mark, and Chris, and Nick, but right now he doesn't want any of them. He wants Josh. Josh with his smiles, and his blue hair, and his piercing. 

**Youre gonna come over?**

_Of course. On my way now._

**Thanks,** Tyler says.

_No problem. Take it easy, Tyler._

Tyler puts his phone face down on the nightstand as Mark comes back. He has a pill bottle in his hand, and a glass of water in the other.

"Can you sit up?" he asks. Tyler does.

"Open," Mark says, then pops the pills in Tyler's mouth. Tyler's capable of doing it himself, but everything hurts so bad he's grateful that Mark doesn't ask him to. Tyler takes the cup from Mark's hand and downs the water. He hopes the pills kick in soon.

"You talk to Josh?" Mark asks, and Tyler nods weakly.

"He's coming over here," he says.

"Oh," Mark says. "Right now?"

"Yeah."

"Cool, I'll let you know when he comes. You need anything else?"

"I want to sleep," Tyler says.

So Mark leaves him to sleep, closing his door and joining Nick and Chris in a conversation on the couch.

Josh arrives half an hour later, in a giant hoodie, with his eyes full of concern and worry. Mark lets him into Tyler's room, and Tyler doesn't even protest.

"Shit, Tyler," Josh says, and Tyler doesn't reply. Josh runs his fingers lightly over the bruising on his throat, on the side of his head, then massages his scalp.

Tyler's eyes fill with tears. "It hurts a lot," he says to Josh. Josh hugs him. 

"I know. Michael must've tagged you pretty hard. These bruises look brutal."

Tyler closes his eyes.

"You going back to sleep?"

"Yeah," Tyler says drowsily.

Josh nods, steps back a little. "I'll be with the other guys, I want to ask them what happened. God, I can't believe this, I'm still in denial."

He turns to walk away, but Tyler catches his arm. "Stay here," he says, and the Advil is making him even more sleepy, and the migraine in his head is hurting so bad he sees flashes of color, but he thinks he communicated that to Josh. "Stay."

Josh holds Tyler hand. "Okay," he says.

Tyler falls asleep.

He dreams of snow.

 

 


	10. Ride

In high school, Tyler dated a girl named Jenna Black.

She was practically the most popular person there, beautiful blonde that she was, with her amazing smile that rivaled even Josh's, her perfect body, and her sparkling personality. Tyler couldn't believe she picked him of all people to be with, and neither could a lot of other people.

"I like you, Tyler," she told him, and giddy with love, he'd said, "I love you, too."

Their relationship went steadily for three years, but at the senior prom, it ended. They had a fight, Tyler ended up in tears, and Jenna walked out of his life for good. He skipped prom. His friends, Nick and Chris, spent their own prom comforting him instead of going with their dates. Even back then, it showed just how strong their friendship was.

Jenna and Tyler met up for coffee the next week. It was cool, distanced, not at all a date, just a meet-up to talk things over. But both of them left happier, staying in contact, and deciding things were better off that way.

Tyler and Jenna still talk constantly. Jenna moved from Ohio to New York to start a life there, but she visits her family on holidays, and Tyler, too. They talk through social media, text, they are up to date on each other's lives.

Tyler hasn't told her about Josh yet. He hasn't dated anyone since high school, but he wonders how she'd react. She's with a guy now - Tyler's seen pictures of both of them on Twitter - but he wonders if she'd care, even a little. He finds himself uncaring, though. He's happy with Josh, happier than he's been in a while.

Is their relationship more than a friendship? That's where Tyler's confused. It should be; it seems to be; but for some reason, it's not. Josh came right over to care for Tyler, he came with him to bail his friends out of jail, and they did go out for coffee, and even though they've only known each other for literally almost three days, Tyler feels connected to Josh like he never felt connected to Jenna.

He only wishes he knew if Josh felt the same. Because obviously, he has feelings for Tyler, but Tyler wonders if they're the same as his own.

When he wakes up, his head hurts, his mouth feels dry, and it's dark in the room. He rubs his eyes, props himself up on his elbows, then stops short.

Josh is lying on the bed next to him, snoring into a pillow softly, arms tucked into the covers. Tyler's heart beats quicker, he pushes himself away as fast as he can go, almost falling off the bed, away from Josh.

_Oh, no. Oh, god, why?_

Josh isn't going to wake up anytime soon. Tyler sees the bags under his eyes, sees the rise and fall of his chest, he looks exhausted. And Tyler isn't going to be the one that wakes him up.

It's nighttime out. Josh stayed with him all this time. Tyler wonders if Mark knows that Josh is literally sleeping next to him in the bed. Tyler wonders if Josh knew what he was doing.

His emotions are mixed, but he allows himself to sink back underneath the covers. He falls asleep again to the sound of Josh's breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is gifted to cattheneko, because he/she (sorry I don't know your gender) has been reading my other work, Addict With An Annoying Piano, and has left some great and supportive comments.  
> You're great. I don't write for myself, I write for others. You inspire me to keep doing so.
> 
> Stay alive, everyone. |-/
> 
> -raging


End file.
